“Halloween” is a testament to the darkness that lingered in the corners of the breezy music of the Dave Matthews Band from the very beginning. With Crowded Streets, that darkness moved to the fore, unavoidable even among supremely horny songs like “Stay (Wasting Time),” the knotty funk of “Rapunzel,” and the sleek and devotional “Crush,” where Lessard’s Mingus-inspired bassline and blocky jazz chords impart an air of smoky sophistication. “No need to bear the weight of your worries/Let them all fall away,” Matthews sings at the start of the record; then he and his collaborators spend the next hour documenting all manner of anxiety.
Though the DMB lineup was already vast, a wide cast of guests joined to fill all available space. Alongside jam band fellow traveler Béla Fleck on banjo, Alanis Morissette on backing vocals, and the Kronos Quartet, returning contributors included Chapman Stick player Greg Howard, pianist Butch Taylor, trumpeter John D’earth, and crucially, guitarist Tim Reynolds, whose frenetic guitar work nudges toward prog. Though Reynolds was essentially the band’s lead guitarist on their first two albums, Lillywhite had largely directed him away from the electric guitar. Now, he had more creative license: electric was the default, playing in the right speaker against Matthews’ acoustic in the left.
Lillywhite may have suggested DMB as a “non-rock” act, but the album’s unlikely first single, “Don’t Drink the Water,” embraces their rock bonafides. Like Pearl Jam’s “Given to Fly,” the song is an overt homage to Led Zeppelin. With Beauford and Lessard locked into a Bonham and John Paul Jones-inspired churn, Matthews explores the subject of colonialism based on his childhood in apartheid-era Johannesburg: “What’s this you say? You feel a right to remain? Then stay and I will bury you,” Matthews sings. The song drew on his South African roots but it also addresses the forced expulsion of Indigenous people in the United States. “Your land is gone and given to me,” Matthews sings, before Morissette joins him for a wailing conclusion, their entangled voices suggesting the cries of the damned far more than friendly whoops from the crowd at Red Rocks.
Matthews makes ample space for songs that subvert the grim qualities of the epics. On “Crush,” he evokes the specter of Marvin Gaye, sounding more than a little like Sting, and backed by Beauford’s dynamic harmonies. The song’s title was inspired by an in-joke about “Crash Into Me,” but it’s also a kind of reaction to the former song, maturing from youthful voyeurism into something more gentlemanly and charming. Speaking with GQ’s Alex Pappademas, Matthews said that unlike “Crash Into Me,” “Crush” communicates his devotional intent: “[W]hen I hear it now, I don’t go, Jeez, pal. Pull your pants up.” Following a fiery solo by Tinsley, the song settles into a luxurious jam that could extend indefinitely.
